


Feels Like Green

by jeejaschocolate



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: DBH Kinkmeme, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Feels, Fluff, Jealousy, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, No Smut, Pining, Post-Game(s), Realization of Feelings, Romance, Self-Discovery, Sexual Tension, Touching, feelings of rejection, jealous!connor, kind of synesthia!Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 03:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15963296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: (Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme)“Can’t explain it for shit,” Hank said, shrugging his shoulders in that overwhelmed, put-upon way he had.Even so. The flowers were put in a vase with water. Kept on the desk. Tended to. Cared for with Hank’s own fingers.——————Connor watches another android confess their feelings for Hank and take him out. It’s fine, at first, but then…it’s not.





	Feels Like Green

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I fell in love with [a prompt on the kinkmeme](https://dbh-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/717.html?thread=12237#cmt12237) (which is now a thing and I love it) that asked for: "Pining, jealous Connor: Another android has declared their love for Hank. They make active, open advances towards him. Cue Connor being super jealous." 
> 
> So happy to oblige ^__^
> 
> Lots of feels in this one y'all. Enjoy!

Connor knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the flowers on Hank’s desk. For one thing, the day hadn’t even started yet. Someone must have put them there quite early in the morning, or late after the detectives had already left for the evening. Intentionally avoiding any interaction. 

This was evidence. 

Narrowing his eyes, Connor examined the flowers tip to tip. White roses and daisies. A modest but attractive bouquet that would have cost a decent amount, according to an internet search on local florists in the neighborhood. White tones. White symbolized…? Connor ran another search. 

Innocence, purity. Death. True love. Different meanings depending on culture and context. 

Connor blinked away the results. They were too inconclusive, barely more than conjecture. Someone had left a bouquet of white flowers on Hank’s desk but the meaning behind it (a threat? a show of gratitude?) was unclear. 

More data needed. 

Connor knelt down beside Hank’s desk, eye-level with the bouquet. He performed a quick scan for any extraneous evidence. Three noteworthy things appeared in his visual field. One: A note attached to the bouquet read, ‘For Hank Anderson,’ in flowing, neat script. No indication of the sender’s identity. Two: There was water on the tips of the stems and condensation on the petals. These were stored properly in a hydrated, cool environment until recently. Kept nice. Third, and most interesting: There were no fingerprints anywhere on the flowers. 

So. Delivered by an android. 

“The hell you doing now?” 

Connor rose to his feet. Hank had arrived. A cursory scan of the man revealed typical information: Hank had slept badly the night before. His breakfast consisted of a beer and a glazed donut. And he was staring at Connor with suspicious, confused eyes, waiting for an explanation. 

An all around average morning. 

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Connor intoned, easing into the seat at his own desk. Some of his internal objectives checked themselves, highlighted in blue. Hank was here and he was in more or less good (well, usual) health. On time. Apparently ready to begin a day of work. 

With those objectives achieved, a tiny surge of enthusiasm filled Connor from the core of his chest to the tips of his hair. He liked having his objectives checked. It felt blue. Blue, as Connor was learning the more he catalogued and analyzed his own emotions, was relief. Reassurance. Almost happiness. But happiness could also be yellow if it was intense enough. Too much pleasantness, too much personal satisfaction. A case solved with maximum efficiency. A night spent on Hank’s couch with Sumo in his lap. An evening on the bench that overlooked the city, Hank by his side. Discussing nothing in particular. These things were yellow. Happy, but almost too much for Connor’s neural network to process.

“What are all those?” Hank pointed to the flowers. His face was crumpled in distrust. Grumpy, Connor’s database provided the nearest appropriate word. 

He began to explain. “It’s a bouquet. Prepared by Heartfelt Flora, the florist on 67th street a few blocks away from here, as the evidence points to.” A basic process of elimination by operating hours and stock led Connor to that conclusion. “I found it on your desk when I came in this morning.” 

Frowning, creasing his already wrinkled face, Hank picked up the bouquet and inspected it himself. Connor would have stopped him if he hadn’t already performed a scan. This was evidence, and who knew where it came from. It should have remained completely undisturbed. But, once Connor scanned it and realized there were no obvious signs of foul play, he was alright with Hank touching it. 

…Kind of, anyway. Hank looked strange holding a bridal bouquet. The uncompromising white of those flowers seemed to glare against his skin, pointing out all the crevices. The parts worn by age and experience. 

Connor wondered, not for the first time, what Hank’s full face looked like. Without the curtain of grey hair hanging around his temples. If Connor pulled that curtain back would he be able to see all the other things Hank kept secret? The feelings, the things he almost said some nights when they were alone, but didn’t? Things about life, about Cole. About Connor. 

_“Listen, kid, you…”_

_Minutes passed._

_“What? What about me, Lieutenant?”_

_“…Nothing. Nothing, alright.”_

It wasn’t nothing. Connor could feel a definite something. But he had no words to describe it. His database came up empty and his limited experience as an entity of free will—a deviant—provided nothing comparable. No similar experience that would give substance to the thought.

There was nothing like the feeling Connor had when he was alone with Hank. He was beginning to suspect there never would be. They’d been partners for almost a year now. Partners in crime (during the revolution) and partners at work. Friends, even. Hank was Hank and Connor was Connor. They knew each other very well and the ease of that companionship would never change.

It reassured Connor. Left him blue on the edge of yellow whenever he considered their friendship. He liked it. 

“Pssh, I hope you were the groom, Anderson.” A sarcastic salvo from Detective Reed landed flatly as the rest of the squad began to notice Hank and his flowers. 

Hank’s face lightened. He chuckled, legitimately amused at the idea. Also ready to poke fun at the absurdity of all this. “Yeah been there done that, thanks.” 

“Second time’s the charm, I hear,” another detective called. A few people were taking pictures on their phones.

“Nah,” Hank shook his head and plopped the flowers down on his desk without a second glance. “Couldn’t put another poor girl through that. My ex was a saint for putting up with me as long as she did. World’s shitty enough without piling all my shit on somebody else’s plate.” 

“So…your ex-wife’s not out of bounds, then? That’s what you’re saying?” Cutting laughter echoed through the squad room.

Hank sighed. He booted up his computer. Done with the conversation. “Sure. You want to take a shot at my ex, go ahead. Why not. Just don’t come crying back to me when you’re missing half your balls.” 

Connor pulled up the image he had on file of Hank’s ex-wife. Marie O’Malley. She took her maiden name again after they divorced. Connor had never met her, but Hank spoke of her from time to time. Actually they sounded like they were once a good couple. Marie was warm but tough. A tried and true cop’s wife. They probably would have lasted together if not for the accident. To Connor’s understanding, after Cole’s death their relationship had been tinged with bitterness, half-hearted blame, and regret. Until they finally ended it. 

Connor didn’t know how to feel about Marie. On the one hand he felt sorry for her, losing a child. On the other, he felt antipathy towards her for causing Hank more pain, however inevitable that was. On yet another hand, a rejoinder, he often wished he could find a way to ease her pain as well. 

Pain was weight. That’s what Connor had come to understand. He couldn’t feel pain, but he could feel weight. Being weighed down. He knew the feeling. Pain must be the same. Debilitating. Just barely manageable some days. The way Hank carried himself…as if he were hoisting around weights on his shoulders, worn down by his past…

“Seriously, though, who’s idea was this?” Hank looked out at the station. Making eye contact with everyone. “It’s too early for pranks, goddamn it.” 

No one accepted blame. They shrugged and shook their heads, looking around as eagerly as Hank. Trying to figure out who could have given _him_ —the resident grumpy old man of the squad—such a thing. 

“Actually, I think the person who gave it to you was an android,” Connor pointed out. “My scan showed no fingerprints.” 

Hank reared his head back. “Why the hell would an android send me flowers?” He stared at the bouquet as if it had offended him on some level. 

“I’m having trouble establishing a motive as well,” Connor admitted. 

“Aww, you just got some robot girl sweet on you, Hank!” One of the older detectives came over and patted Anderson on the back too harshly. “How nice. She must have a thing for old dudes that smell like the inside of a Jack Daniel’s bottle. Lucky you.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Hank shrugged the other man’s hands off him. He was not interested in making this a joke anymore. He seemed perplexed. 

“Well if you’re not into it you can always give her my number…” A few more deep-throated grunts made their agreement known. 

“I said, that’s enough!” Hank was shouting now. Serious. Silencing all the miscellaneous grunts with a dark look. 

When Hank was serious, no one dared get on his bad side. He’d made his reputation as a wild card well known. Not caring in the least for regulations and standard conduct. A bar fighter, as well. No one really wanted to tempt that. 

So the other detectives slowly went back to their own business. 

Saying nothing, Connor went to make Hank a cup of coffee. He knew the only way to ease Hank’s now ruined mood was with caffeine. Connor could see a visible unclenching of Hank’s muscles, a slackening of his face and easing of his shoulders, whenever he drank coffee. Connor considered it part of his job to get Hank to that point. 

His job was to help. He always wanted to help Hank. That was high on his list of primary objectives. He liked it that way.

Later in the day, when they were alone in the car on the way to a crime scene, Connor offered a bit more help. “You know, if you really want to find out who gave you those flowers, we could always check the security footage. The tapes run all night. I’m sure they’re on there.” 

Hank cast Connor a sideways glance. Giving that some thought. Eventually he said, “Nah. It’s fine. I’ll leave it alone.” 

“Are you sure?” The curiosity alone was preoccupying a good helping of Connor’s neural network! Eating up his processing power. How could Hank not be interested?

“Yeah.” Hank paused. “If they wanted me to know who they are, they would’ve left a name. Or a number. Or something. Think for now they want to be…you know, anonymous.” 

That made sense. They’d left no clues, so anonymity was almost certainly their goal. More than that, it made sense that Hank would want to respect their wishes. He was like that. He didn’t push people. Unless it was for a case, and even then, Connor was in charge of most interrogations. 

Hank was more thoughtful and far more considerate than people gave him credit for. 

Although, Connor had never seen Hank deal with a problem like romance. He’d heard of his marriage, but that hardly counted. This was something like…courtship, wasn’t it? Everyone in the station had assumed that immediately when they saw the flowers. Apparently that was the most logical conclusion. 

Hank was being courted. 

Connor blinked rapidly. He noted a spike in his internal temperature. Unsure of the cause, he ran a quick diagnostic and came up with nothing. But his temperature refused to go back to its normal limits. And his hands were…twitching. Once every eight seconds. Then ten…then fourteen…then seventeen. 

Unusual. 

A problem? 

…No, not a problem. Just a brief distraction. It would pass in time. 

“You okay?” Hank asked, evidently catching the strangeness radiating off Connor.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

He was fine.

____________________________________________

A few days later, Connor arrived in the morning to another surprise on Hank’s desk. This time it was a glazed donut in a cellophane box wrapped with a neat white bow. There was also a card propped up next to it, embossed with the design of a daisy. So clearly the same sender as last time. Connor scanned the inside of the card. It read: “For you. Don’t get hungry. —From, Me” The same script as the previous card. Impossibly neat. It must have been written by android, there was no other explanation. 

Connor sat at his desk and stared at the gift while he waited for Hank to come in. His responsive network—the place where all his free will and improvised responses came from, as well as his detective skills—came up with several scenarios for who could be doing this. Why. To what end?

What were the goals in this? Giving Hank gifts? Especially signing it just ‘me,’ indicating that this might become a regular thing. That they might attempt to become…familiar with Hank over the course of this. 

Well. Connor folded his hands in his lap. If they wanted to become familiar they should just reveal their identity and talk with Hank. Being secretive and discreet was not the way to get attention from Hank. Connor knew that much! He’d been friends with Hank for a long time. The way to appeal to him was with honesty and transparency. Not with disguises and trivial gifts…

“What’s that now?” 

Connor explained what he’d found to Hank, although he hardly needed to. The evidence was right in front of them. 

Hank read the card over a few times. Checking the back and the front. “No number huh…” he said, almost to himself. 

“And no fingerprints,” Connor added. Hank was distrustful of androids still. Yes, he was getting better, but Connor knew firsthand how deep Hank’s distrust ran. For that matter, he was distrustful of everyone! Humans and androids. There was no way Hank would think any of this was just an innocent gesture, a sloppy attempt at courtship. He’d see it as a trick—

And so, Connor set himself up for a harsh shock to the system when he saw Hank open the box and lift the donut to his lips. Ready to eat.

“Wait!” Connor reached for Hank’s hand to stop him, LED flashing yellow.

“…What?” Now Hank was looking at him with _that_ look. _That._ ‘Fucking androids.’ 

Connor hated that look.

“I…have to scan it first. Check its contents for malicious additives….” He blinked and looked away. Unsure why his processors were operating at heightened speed, as if this were dramatically tense. A hostage situation. Or…

“Okay. So do it.” Hank held up the donut, giving Connor ample access.

Wordlessly, Connor performed the scan. The results were normal. All clear. For some reason, that didn’t make him feel any better.

“…It’s fine. Go ahead.” Not wishing to see any more of Hank’s looks, Connor turned to his computer.

“Good to know.” What followed were the sounds of Hank chewing. Gratuitously. Licking his fingers of any leftover glaze.

Connor silently lowered his auditory input. Not wishing to hear any more of that than he had to. 

There was another feeling in his chest. Something he was becoming more accustomed to. Anger. Anger was the red of his LED, whirling and flashing. Fingers clenching, irrational orders from his primal drive spewing at rates too fast to process. Thoughts firing off in his head. Face tight. 

Connor was angry. 

He didn’t really know why. Who, or what, was he angry with? He couldn’t be mad at Hank for eating a donut. Especially a free one. And he couldn’t be mad at someone for wanting to give Hank gifts. Especially gifts that Hank enjoyed!

But…he was. 

Hank should have been more responsible. He should refuse to take things from someone without knowing why he was receiving them. He should be more cautious! And…he should be more consistent. If Hank hated androids so much ( _‘Fucking androids,’_ ) then he should act more like it. He should turn down gifts from androids no matter how delicious. And he should be more annoyed about getting these gifts in the first place. 

Why wasn’t he more annoyed? 

And this anonymous android! (If indeed it was, instead of a person using an android to send the gifts, which was unlikely these days.) If they cared for Hank then…they should give him a healthier gift! Donuts were high in sugar and fat content. Hank had enough of that in his diet! Didn’t they want him to live as long as he could? Furthermore, they should stop playing like this was some game. Hank didn’t have time for games. He was busy and he didn’t even like games…

Connor’s thirium turned to ice as he watched Hank pull a post-it from his desk and write the word, ‘Thanks!’ on it. He stuck it to the empty donut box and left it where he found it. The card he put in a drawer next to the bouquet of flowers he’d received previously. 

None of these items were in the garbage. All of them were taking up space in Hank’s desk. As if they were important. 

Hank must have thought they were important. This must have been a game worth playing. (Even though when Connor asked to play chess, Hank always said he was _‘too tired for all that shit. Why don’t you play yourself?’_ ) He was beginning a correspondence with this person, leaving a return message where they would certainly see it. If they were looking. 

Connor’s head throbbed. His processors were running so fast he couldn’t keep up with them. What…was this? A new emotion…? Like anger, but faster. Liquid quick. Running over every inch of him. Hot and cold at the same time. Pump beating and face slack, apathetic. 

Connor searched his database for a word to explain this, but the parameters were too specific and unclear. Nothing came up. 

Shit. 

Meanwhile, Connor was left beating back irrational directives from his core. 

_Throw the box in the trash._

_Check the security footage against Hank’s wishes and confront this person yourself._

_Take the card from Hank’s desk and analyze it for more clues. Then destroy the card._

_Confront Hank about his unreasonable behavior._

_Refuse to allow Hank to accept any more gifts._

Then, quietly, at the very end of all the overlapping instructions:

_Be happy for Hank._

Oh. Connor turned to the side as if he’d just heard that one aloud. _Be happy for Hank._ That’s what he should be doing, wasn’t it? They were friends. Friends supported each other in all endeavors, including romance. If Connor was Hank’s friend, then he should be happy for him and tell him to pursue the relationship as far as he liked. They _were_ friends, weren’t they?

But where were all these irrational instructions coming from? 

“Hey, Connor, I’m going to the store for some lunch.” Hank was on his feet. Half the day had gone by already. “You want anything? A magazine or something?” 

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” 

He was fine. He really was. He’d run a diagnostic later tonight on the docking station in his own apartment and then…then he’d…well, he’d stop all these strange feelings. He’d be happy for Hank. Like a true friend. 

Yes.

He was fine.

__________________________________

There was already another gift the very next day. This time it was just two red roses tied together with a white string. There was a card attached, but this time it was sealed in an envelope. Formally. 

Connor stood stock still in front of the desk and considered what he should do. What he should _not_ do, of course, was listen to any of the directives his drive was spewing. No. That would have been very bad. 

Still. Connor could not very well leave the card alone without a scan. For safety’s sake. So. He scanned it. Empty except for the intended card, no traces of anything harmful. Just a card. And well…he was already scanning the inside of the envelope, so he might as well look at the message…Connor adjusted his scanners and was able to rearrange the writing in front of him. He analyzed the script and added it to his database for easy processing. The handwriting was the same as before, but the message was a lot longer. 

It read: “Dear Hank Anderson, Hello. I’m sorry to leave you so many anonymous messages but I was a little shy at first. I wasn’t sure how you would react to gifts like this. Especially when you found out it was an android sending them, which I’m sure Connor already told you.” 

Connor paused for a moment. This card actually mentioned him by name. So. This must be an android they both knew…probably one who worked in the station. Or at least used to. 

That was an important conclusion. He filed it away for later.

The note went on: “But since you’ve been accepting the gifts without ridiculing me, even though you don’t know who I am…well, I want to meet you. We’ve met already, but this time I want to meet privately. So I can explain myself and my feelings. If you’re at all interested, please come to the Coffee Bean on 54th street at 6:00. I’ll be waiting. —Yours, S.” 

Connor read and reread the note several times. It was in his programming to look for a hidden meaning, some kind of code, so he did. But he found nothing. The words were just…words. They meant what they said.

This person, whoever they were, had clear feelings for Hank. Romantic feelings. A quick internet search for red roses produced nothing but romance-related results. There could be nothing else. 

Fighting back more instructions that made no sense, ( _hide everything, all the evidence, before Hank can see_ ), Connor put his hand on the flesh of the rose. The petal was so tender. Fragile under his hand. This person must have touched the petals in the same way and thought the sensation appropriate.

Was romance as fragile as this? Breakable from nothing but a harsh squeeze? Connor had no experience with romance or sexual attraction. He did his job. That’s what he was programmed to do and he did it well.

But…when he thought about this person, picking out flowers for Hank, Connor found that he knew how they must have felt. Unsure. Anxious. Excited. Wanting. 

_Want._ Want was somewhere between yellow and red. Orange. Needy and demanding. Connor should know nothing of want, and yet…he did. When he imagined this person and these flowers he understood. There was _want_ in these gifts. 

Connor had want inside of him too, he realized in that moment. He must have had it for a long time but he just never knew the word for it. This want, this was all part of the way he felt about Hank. Comfort, security, familiarity, happiness, and _want_. It was there. As loud as any of the other feelings. Connor let himself feel it, starting to get overwhelmed.

_I want Hank too._

At last the words settled in his head. 

Now he saw his own want reflected back at him through the efforts of another person. It was right there. Red roses and beautiful words. That was want, or a type of it. A way to express wanting. 

Connor wished he could find a way to express his own want. This feeling…it was beautiful! It must be shared! No wonder this person had written such a heartfelt letter! They could not possibly keep their want to themselves. It would be awful! Connor understood this person very well now. 

They’d come to their conclusions about Hank much faster than him. 

“More flowers?” 

Connor whirled around to face Hank. His mind racing, Connor stumbled over several words inside his head. It was hard to get any of them out.

_Want tell fragilefeeltellwant—_

“Hank, I—”

“Oh and there’s a card this time?” Hank had not heard Connor’s outburst. Now he was already opening the card and reading it.

Connor watched his face as he read. For the most part it was blank. Then, at the end, Hank’s face went slack. Quietly thoughtful. He put the card back in the envelope and stuck it in his jacket pocket. A private, personal place. Over his heart. Before Connor even knew what was happening, Hank had gone to the break room and procured a vase. 

Still Connor was standing there. Watching Hank put the roses in the vase, mixing them with the leftover flowers from the last bouquet. Weeding out the dead ones and clipping the live ones. Caring for them as he let the flowers breathe in the water. They’d soak up the sun on the farthest corner of his desk. 

How long had Connor beed standing here?

“You alright, Connor?” Now Hank was looking at him. Not angry. Not even confused. Just looking. As if waiting for him to say something.

“I…” 

_I want you too._

He wanted to tell Hank. He should tell him. He should tell him everything—that the nights on the bench and the nights on the couch, those times when Hank came over Connor’s apartment with a DVD. Ancient technology, but something that Hank had a lot of. Something for them to watch. Connor loved all of that. He loved being at Hank’s side and helping him—his objectives now revolved almost entirely around Hank. And Connor wanted them that way. He wanted Hank in his life and he wanted…he wanted…

What? What else was there?

…Romance?

Connor looked at the flowers on Hank’s desk and was lost. He had no idea what it meant to be in a romantic relationship. Other than sex and physical touching, of which Connor knew very little as well. Overall, he had no idea what he could expect from Hank should they enter into a relationship like that. This note, these gifts…they were beyond Connor, in a way. He hadn’t thought to give them and he probably never would have. 

And now. Well. Hank already read the letter. So. 

It was too late.

Swallowing his regret and bewilderment, Connor forced himself into a seat. “…Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.” 

It wasn’t nothing. It was never nothing. Did people always say ‘nothing’ when they meant the opposite? Now Connor was doing it too. 

“Huh.” Hank was still staring at him. Unconvinced. 

“What did the note say?” Connor asked emotionlessly. Hank didn’t know he’d read it already. Connor wouldn’t admit to doing it if he didn’t have to. 

“The person wants to meet,” Hank explained. “The one who sent all this stuff. Sounds kind of like a date.” 

A date. Connor ran an internet search even though he didn’t have to. He knew what a date was. 

Holding hands. Conversation. An enjoyable, shared experience. Kissing. 

Liquid, fiery cold _something_ ran through Connor again. He wanted to go on a date with Hank. Didn’t he? They already had! More or less. They’d been alone and talked about personal mattes. Confidential things. Life and feelings. There’d never been any kissing or touching, but…once, Hank put his hand on Connor’s shoulder for a long time. If Connor recalled the memory he could still feel it there. 

That was a date, right?

…That wasn’t a date. No. Meeting at coffee shops at a specific time agreed upon in advance, with gifts beforehand, that was a date. Connor had never been on a date. 

“Are you going to go?” Connor asked, unsure why. The slick rage/fear feeling was only getting worse. “On the…date?” 

Hank sucked on his top lip. “Who knows.” 

Mostly likely, yes. “I see.” Connor turned back to his computer, pretending that his hands weren’t shuddering every ten seconds. 

“Heh, a date. Can’t explain it for shit,” Hank said, shrugging his shoulders in that overwhelmed, put-upon way he had. He passed a hand over his face as if it were all too much. 

Even so. The flowers were put in a vase with water. Kept on the desk. Tended to. Cared for with Hank’s own fingers.

And there was a certain kind of levity on his face. Not a smile per se, but. Lightness. Hank walked a little straighter the rest of the day. 

Finally, Connor’s database was able to put a word to the feeling inside of him. 

Jealousy.

_________________________________________

Hank went on the date. He called it quits around 6:00 because he said he ‘had somewhere to be.’ Connor knew exactly where that was. 

Going home alone, Connor thought to run another diagnostic on himself. His docking station had more available updates than the public ones around town. So he could check for any outdated programming. 

_Systems normal._

_Software up to date._

_Processors functioning within normal limits._

Apparently Connor was actually fine. There was nothing physically wrong with him or his software. 

The jealousy….the feelings he had for Hank…the wanting…was all of that normal too? It couldn’t be.

Connor sat in the solitude of his small studio apartment. He had no bed, no kitchen. Just a couch, a TV, a docking station, and a closet. That’s all he needed. Or, it should have been. 

Now there was the date to consider. Hank smiling and nodding along with another person. Drinking coffee and getting relaxed. Looking appreciative. Then, maybe, at the end of the date…putting his hand on top of the other person’s. Intimate and sweet. 

Connor clenched his teeth and tried not to think about it. He shouldn’t be this jealous. He shouldn’t he shouldn’t he shouldn’t. He and Hank were just friends. Friends were happy for each other. Connor should be happy for him…

But…he wished…he wanted…

Hank’s smiles were supposed to be for him. Hank had smiled at Connor on only thirteen occasions previously, and Connor treasured every one. He also kept track of all the instances of physical contact with Hank. There had never been hand holding, but…Connor stared at his hand. He wanted there to be. Hank’s hand would be soft and gentle on top of his. Larger. Warm. Accepting.

Connor wanted that. He clasped his hands together to simulate the feeling. 

Wanting. Coveting. _Craving_. This was a brand new emotion. It wasn’t red or yellow or blue. It was sweet but also sick in that it hit Connor as hard as it was possible to hit. 

Green. It was green. Wanting without anything in return. Wanting what someone else had. This feeling was green. Encroaching ivy and fallen spring leaves covering the road. Nature at its most invasive. 

Connor wasn’t fine. 

_____________________________________

The following night was Friday. It was their usual habit for Connor and Hank to go out for drinks after work on Fridays, and they kept that. Connor was relieved to be sitting next to Hank at the bar—a new bar, one that served alcohol to humans and a thirium blend to androids. Hank said he liked drinking where Connor could drink too, this way it wasn’t just like sitting next to a teetotaler, which Hank couldn’t stand. 

So Connor stared at the shiny blue liquid in front of him, easing into his bar stool. Uncomfortably aware of Hank’s presence at his side. This man was his best friend. Connor had other friends, he supposed. But Hank was his best by far. He wouldn’t think to tell other people half the things he told Hank. 

Connor didn’t want to lose that relationship. Yes, there was wanting inside of him. But revealing it now might push Hank away from him. And Connor couldn’t handle the thought of that. 

He would covet his time with Hank, he supposed. Since he and Hank were friends and partners. He could go out drinking casually with Hank in this way, in a way a date could not. He already knew a lot about Hank, things that would take a new person months to learn. He could spend time with Hank at work, standing in the way of Hank and imminent danger, in the way a date could not. 

These were all things that belonged to Connor. He liked that. He liked having things that were just his and Hank’s. Things other people couldn’t touch.

It was only recently that Connor was discovering the greedy side of him. The green side. The part that wanted more. That wanted…everything. 

“So I went on that date yesterday,” Hank announced. Connor had been planning on avoiding the subject. His hope was that the whole thing would fizzle out of its own accord if he didn’t prod too much. But here was Hank, bringing it up.

“Oh, did you?” Connor replied. Even though he knew Hank had. He stirred the thirium drink and tried to stay conversational. “How was it?” 

“It was, uh…” Before he answered, Hank took another sip of his drink. Neat scotch, a double. His usual.

Connor waited, suspended in time, for him to finish. 

“….nice.” That was it. After such a long pause. 

“I see.” Connor took a drink and waited for Hank to say more. If he would. 

He would. “Yeah, I mean…she’s a nice girl.” 

She. Connor’s programming fixated on that word, it rang in his head. _She_. A female android. Hank’s type? Women…? Attractive women, certainly. All androids had a baseline level of human attractiveness so Connor was certain she was beautiful. _She_.

“Turns out it was the receptionist. You know the one who works the front desk at the station?” 

“That ST300 unit?” Connor asked. He immediately knew the person. Her model and ID number as well. He’d passed her so many times—every day! And he hadn’t known she felt that way about Hank, the person that Connor counted the most important in his life. 

Poor deduction skills on his part. And that was supposed to be his strong suit.

“Is that the model?” Hank ran his fingers in circles around the short tumbler. “Well anyway her name is Shannon. She actually just got a new job as a pattern maker for a high-end boutique uptown. Says clothes are her passion, so she’s moving on from the station.” 

Oh so she had a passion. Something she wanted to do with her life. ST300 units were programmed to have high memory capacity and spatial organization because they were designed for administrative tasks. So this woman— _Shannon_ —was probably great at pattern making. Connor actually had to admire her for following her dream…he guessed his own passion was detective work, but that didn’t really seem to fit. He liked solving cases. Checking off objectives. But that wasn’t his favorite thing about being alive. His favorite thing was…

Shannon had beaten him to that goalpost as well it seemed.

She was better than him at being a person. 

Connor sipped his drink again, unsure why they even made drinks for androids. The thirium just flushed out his system and refreshed his biocomponents. It was nothing like actual drinking, what humans did. Just a simulation. 

Connor stared at the crystalline blue liquid and felt green sludge in his veins. 

“I thanked her for all the gifts, you know. Bet she spent a good amount on all those roses.” Hank’s voice was low, rambling. He was inching towards tipsy, Connor could tell. The edge of his nose was just turning red. Connor wanted to…

Touch it, maybe. Was that cute? Shannon would probably do something cute. Roses and donuts were cute. Could Connor be cute? He could be cute if he tried, perhaps…

What he really wanted to do was put his hands on Hank’s face. He wanted to feel the man’s skin in an intimate place where they had never touched before. The face. He wanted to know what Hank’s skin felt like under his fingertips. The texture and pliancy. The data he could collect.

But that wasn’t cute. So. 

“She said she was happy to do it. That she’d been meaning to tell me how she felt for a while and figured she better get it out before she left. She seemed kinda relieved to get it off her chest.” Hank took another swig of scotch. “I gotta admit—and I said this to her—that it took guts giving out gifts down at the station like that. Where she must have known people would make fun of how she felt.” 

“And…how does she feel?” Connor wanted to hear the words Hank would give to this. How he described romance. 

“Well she…you know.” Hank turned to him with an unamused expression. As if Connor was being purposefully obtuse, which he was. “She has feelings for me. She wants to go on more dates. Get to know each other a little better. She’s interested and all that.”

“Interested in you? Why?” Connor spat that out before he realized how it sounded.

Hank grunted around his drink. “Fuck you, Connor! I still got something to bring to the table, no matter how old I am. And some people like a guy with experience.” 

_Experience._ Connor could only imagine the type of experience Hank had. Actually, he wanted to imagine it. He wanted to know everything about the things Hank had done in the past. Sexually, romantically, privately. All of it. 

Because Connor himself was as far from experienced as it was possible to be. He’d never been on any dates. Never shared an intimate night with anyone.

Maybe Hank should be with a person who knew what they wanted. At least enough to know that they wanted someone who knew what they were doing. Connor didn’t even have a reason why he had fallen so hard for Hank, except for the fact that Hank was the best human in the world. The one who had shown Connor how to do everything that mattered, everything that brought him closer to humanity. Everything pleasant. Beyond Hank though, Connor couldn’t claim to have a ‘type.’

Yes. Hank should be with someone who was familiar with dating. Or at least with the concept. He didn’t deserve to waste his time with someone like Connor that couldn’t even put into words the things he wanted to do with Hank. He should be with someone more level-headed. Down to earth. Emotionally available. 

More human. Like that ST300 unit pursuing all her dreams. 

Connor pushed his drink away. He was done drinking for the night. That thirium made him feel healthier than he wanted to feel at the moment. 

“And yeah, she says she likes my attitude,” Hank continued. “Says I was always nice to her. Even though she’s an android. Especially after the revolution, which is when she started getting some backlash from the other guys at the station.” Hank shrugged. “Who knows if she sees anything like what I really am, but. It’s not the worst reason for a crush I’ve ever heard.” 

This was the point where Connor interjected with some insightful comment. Something Hank wanted to hear or something he might have noticed that Hank didn’t. That was how their conversations usually worked. Except right now Connor didn’t have anything to say. 

Well. Nothing that could contribute to this conversation in a healthy way. Truthfully, he had so much he wanted to say. 

_I love your attitude too._

_You were the only one who talked to me at work before the revolution. You were my first human friend…my first anything._

_Can’t you see how I feel?_

_I want you!_

Hank was usually so good at discerning Connor’s feelings. Sometimes even before Connor himself. Not now. Now it felt like their roles had been entirely lost. This was territory they’d never in before. 

Connor closed his eyes and told himself not to say anything. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t he couldn’t. If he did…they’d be in even worse territory. A place where Hank needed to make a decision about what (and who) he wanted. He’d need to let Connor down gently and then he’d feel guilty about it afterwards. 

Connor couldn’t do that to him. Hank was a good man. The best. He didn’t deserve that. He deserved a good friend. 

Connor could be a good friend. He could. He could. Yes, he could. 

“She wants to go out to dinner tomorrow night.” Hank was staring deeply into his drink. 

“…Are you going to go?” Connor had a feeling he already knew the answer to this. But maybe…just maybe…

“Yeah, I think I will.” 

Of course. 

Why. _How_. How could Hank abandon all his old principles about androids so quickly? How could he just decide to start seeing this woman in spite of everything he’d said in the past? How could he do that after everything…everything he and Connor had been through—

No, no. That wasn’t fair. Hank had every right to pursue a healthy relationship with this woman. The past was the past.

Connor was being irrational. 

He hated being irrational. 

“Yeah, I know it sounds kind of…whatever.” Hank sighed heavily. He seemed strangely sad for a moment. Connor frowned when he saw that. Shouldn’t Hank be happier if he was getting the woman he wanted? “But I…well, you know.” 

“…What?” Connor didn’t honestly know.

Hank inhaled through his nose. He nodded the way he did when something was uncomfortable for him to say. Gritting through the pain. “I’m not getting any younger here, Connor. Maybe it’s time I…found someone. Someone that can actually stand me.”

_I can stand you!_

_I love you…_

“And if this girl’s interested, then…” Hank rubbed his forehead sloppily. Some hairs stuck to his temple. Connor wanted to brush them away and place his lips in the same spot. He wanted… “…who am I to turn her down.” 

This was happening. 

Sooner or later Connor needed to accept that. No matter how much it felt like he was being crushed under the weight of his own want. 

Want was weight. Pain. It made sense now why he hadn’t been programmed to feel any of this. There was so much of it. Want and pain.

“So, I’ll give it a shot.” Hank tossed back the rest of his drink. He turned to Connor, noticing his unusual silence. “Got anything to add?”

But there was nothing left to say. Connor was hovering between green and orange and red. All the colors that made him want to jump out of his own skin. 

And so, he lied.

“No…no, I’m…happy for you.” 

“Heh.” Hank patted him on the shoulder. Not really smiling, not really…anything. Just patting. “Thanks, kid.” 

That wasn’t the way he usually said it. Normally he said that with a feeling of heart behind the words. Now they were just…words. 

Nothing was normal. Nothing was alright.

________________________________________________

To be fair, Connor hadn’t planned on going downtown. He was just going for a walk. He couldn’t stand the thoughts in his own head alone in his apartment. It felt like they were bouncing off the walls, hitting him over and over. Too many malfunctions and too many warnings in his visual field. 

He needed to walk. 

So he walked for hours through the streets. Detroit had its own appeal, Connor supposed. He didn’t know if the city was objectively nice to look it, but this was his home. He’d been manufactured here. Lived his whole existence here. Detroit was familiar. He liked it. 

Connor was learning a lot about himself these past few days. His wanting side, his propensity for disappointment. For rejection.

Rejection was also a new feeling. It wasn’t as though Hank had openly rejected him; he hadn’t told him so in words. But. Hank was actively pursuing someone else. He was making a choice not to be with Connor—whether or not he knew that choice was available, he was still making it. That felt like rejection. 

Although, logically it made sense. According to his known history, Hank was interested in women. Humans. If he was going to date an android, it would be a physically attractive, emotionally aware woman. 

…Could Connor become a woman? Probably, yes. It sounded easy enough. He wasn’t particularly attached to any part of his body. If Hank was only amenable to certain features, they should be easy enough to procure. A whole new body even? A female one? That would be harder, since Connor’s model was technically a prototype. Still doable, though. Certainly. Connor could that.

No, but that didn’t even matter. This wasn’t just a problem of gender. There was a problem with everything else about Connor too. Personality. Way of being. Shannon outranked Connor in almost every category (except police work. Connor was probably better than Shannon at solving cases, but that hardly counted in a romance situation). She was just better. Simple as that.

Connor knew he should not feel despondent. These were objectively true facts. And yet, his emotions remained. 

They would pass, he told himself. In time this would go away. Hank would be happy and Connor would be happy for him. The inconvenient, irrational feelings would pass. 

They had to. Otherwise Connor might actually lose his mind, become completely dysfunctional. The things he wanted to say to Hank bubbled up in his head, queued in his vocal processor, so that it took all his willpower to hold them back.The things he wanted to do…to touch Hank. With his hands, his lips. Things that made no sense. But his body was suddenly a sentient thing. Alive and hungry. Opinionated. Knowing what it wanted. 

Connor needed to keep all of that to himself…he needed to. 

Somehow he ended up downtown. This part of the city was the most vibrant at night. Restaurants and shops stayed open late. People of all ages (but mostly young) ambled around, chatting on phones or to each other. No real place to go. Just taking in the scenery, the feeling of being there. Out.

He saw a couple. It wasn’t Hank and Shannon; Connor had no idea where they were and he wasn’t planning on running into them. If he had, he would have immediately ducked away. He didn’t want to see them together. He…couldn’t. 

But this couple. A man and a woman. They were young, but not so young. Connor correctly deduced they were in their mid twenties. They were clearly together. They walked through the streets holding hands.

_Hands_.

Connor pinpointed those hands and his visual field automatically zoomed in on it. Latched together hands. Fingers interwoven. _Intimate_. Enjoying each other’s presence, side by side.

Suddenly Connor’s network replaced the couple with an image of Hank and Shannon. He didn’t know why he was pre-constructing this—he had planned on never seeing this!—and yet, here he was. Imagining them. Together. 

Happy. Throwing each other surreptitious smiles every so often. Hands swinging. And then…

Leaning in close. Arms wrapped around waists. Faces centimeters apart. Laughing about some secret whispered into that space. And then…

Kissing. It lasted longer than Connor imagined it would. Their lips were pressed together for nearly twenty seconds. They smiled into the kiss. Tasting each other with their tongues, Connor could see them. Their hands roamed while they kissed. He put his hand on her rear end, she held onto his shoulder blades. Bodies touching. 

Would Hank be as passionate with his kissing as this couple? Would Shannon? Had they been wanting to touch each other like this the whole time they were on dates? Was Hank imagining it? Was Shannon? Her lips on his…was she waiting to do this to Hank? Was he waiting to do this to her, to grab her there? 

Connor’s LED was red. He felt everything. All at once. Crushing jealousy and sadness and an aching sort of desire. Connor didn’t want to watch anymore, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted to replace the woman with himself. He wanted Hank to whisper things in the space between them. To smile and kiss him back. He wanted Hank to touch him in places that only lovers touched…he wanted, he wanted.

“Hey, umm…do we know you?” 

Oh. The couple was looking at him. They’d noticed he was staring. It was socially inappropriate. 

Connor shook his head and took a step back. Retreat. “No, I apologize. You don’t. I’ll…sorry.”

He turned and picked up the pace. Back in the direction of his apartment. By the time he got there, he was running. He burst through the door and stood in the middle of the floor. Trying to get back in control of his sensors and processors. Every time he blinked he saw that couple—imagined them as Hank and Shannon, then imagined himself. 

This was getting far out of hand. 

Connor knew that if (or when) he saw Hank again, he’d be fighting back the same feelings. There was no path to normalcy in that scenario.

He had to tell him. 

Yes, he knew it was wrong. It wasn’t fair to Hank to put him in that position. Yes, he wasn’t being fair to Shannon either who had rightfully gotten to Hank first. But Connor wasn’t going to expect anything from confessing. No. He would even tell Hank as much. There was no obligation for Hank to feeling anything once Connor told him the truth.

He just needed to say it. 

There was too much inside of him. He needed Hank to know.

Just to know. That’s all. 

That would be the end of it.

He blinked and sent a text message to Hank’s personal phone: “I need to speak with you.” 

_________________________________________________

Fortunately, Hank seemed to understand the urgency behind Connor’s text. On some level. He agreed to meet with him right away, invited him over his house the following day. Sunday. Last day of the weekend before they went back into a full work week.

Connor needed to say it now. 

He sat on Hank’s couch with Sumo at his side. Petting Sumo’s thick fur always helped to make Connor feel calmer. Something about the feel of it, and also the way Sumo looked back at him. Expectant and happy. Eager for attention. It made Connor feel blueish, relaxed. Content. 

Sumo was a good dog.

“Alright, Connor.” Hank eased himself onto the couch next to them. With the added weight, Sumo leapt off to go lay down somewhere he had more space. “What did you need to talk to me about?” 

Yes. Straight to the point. Now was the time. 

He opened his mouth. 

Nothing came out. 

…How could he say this? His social relation software told him that no matter how he phrased it, this would all sound terribly sudden and awkward. Connor didn’t want to be either of those things. He had practiced his words beforehand, back at home. Even and metered. Confident and accepting of the consequences. That’s how he was when he practiced. 

Now, sitting in front of Hank…it was different. 

This would change them forever. Connor knew that. But in a way, they were already changed. With all of these feelings, all of _this_ , they couldn’t go back to the way things were before those gifts. Before the flowers and the notes…

“What. Come on.” Hank was drinking a mug of coffee. Connor randomly wished he had prepared it for him. “I know you have something to say so you might as well just…say it.” 

“…Alright.”

No way out. No other options. Connor needed to say this and then he could leave. Go back to his apartment and tell himself what a terrible idea this was. How they’d gotten into some kind of mess that was probably irreparable. How he’d damaged something he didn’t even know he had before all this: An ego. A sense of self. The desire to be the only person in Hank’s life. 

Regardless, he was doing this. 

“Hank, I…I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while.” Connor rearranged his legs. Sitting straight up in his seat. Unnatural. Clearly robotic. “Before I say it, though, I want you to understand that you have no obligation to me either way. You don’t need to say or do anything in response. I just…need you to know.” 

Hank frowned. “Okay…” He put his mug down on the coffee table. Sensing the seriousness. 

Connor closed his eyes and gathered himself. “Alright.” 

He’d say it the same way Hank explained it that night in the bar. Using the same words. Words that would surely be remembered and understood for what they were. No room for confusion. 

“I have feelings for you, Hank. I…want to go dates with you. I want us to get to know each other better.” Connor’s eyes were open now. Staring right at Hank. “I’m interested in you.” 

The words were less dramatic than Connor anticipated. They sounded flat and strange in the familiar space of Hank’s living room. Like they didn’t belong. For a moment, it was surreal and Connor wondered if he was pre-constructing this or if it was actually happening.

It was real.

Hank just stared right back at him. Lips slightly apart. His sharp blue eyes dartedall over Connor’s face. Waiting for something else to be said. Maybe a punchline or a final blow. But Connor had nothing left to say. He’d bared his true feelings at the risk of everything. 

What else was there? 

“Like I said,” he continued. “You don’t have to feel obligated to reciprocate my feelings. I know that’s impossible for humans. And I understand you’ve begun a relationship with Shannon, and I am happy to see you pursue something you want. I won’t stand in your way. I wish you both…pleasantness.” 

That word didn’t fit. Except, Connor didn’t know another one that made sense. He wished them both nothing but blue. But humans didn’t qualify their feelings with colors in that way. So. 

“I just want you to know how I feel because I…” Connor glanced at his own hands. Tightly clenched. “…couldn’t keep it to myself. I felt…well…”

This part he hadn’t practiced. The part where he admitted everything he wanted to do to Hank. The things that were pouring out of him of their own accord. 

Stop. 

No more. 

Cutting himself off, Connor rose to his feet. “Anyway. That’s all I came to say. I’ll…leave you alone now. It’s Sunday and I’m sure you have plenty of things to do—”

“Connor. Sit the fuck down.” 

Freezing, Connor absorbed the command. It wasn’t their usual rapport for Connor to follow directions as soon as they were given. He wasn’t the best at that, even before he became deviant. 

But this time he sat. Right down. 

Hank inched closer to him. Face twisted in confusion, trying desperately to put the pieces together. “What the hell are you saying to me right now.” 

“I’m saying…” Was he unclear? How could he say it any more plainly? “Well I’m saying that I have similar feelings as Shannon. I…want to…be…in a relationship with you.” 

He almost stumbled there, but the truth came out in the end. No matter how painful.

Hank squinted and shook his head. “Connor, are you serious? Do you even…I thought you…” 

“What? What did you think?” 

“I thought…” Hank passed a hand over his chin. Reeling. “I thought you didn’t have feelings like that. You’ve never even…” 

“I know. I used to believe the same thing.” True. “But when I saw those gifts and the way she talked about you in her letter…” Well that truth was out now too; Connor had been snooping. “I understood it. I felt the same. It just…made me realize there was a way to say it.” 

Slow understanding fell upon Hank’s face. He nodded once. “So you…how long have you felt…you know?” 

“I don’t know.” Connor frowned and tried to think when it started. When he first looked at Hank and felt _home. Safe. Love._ “A while, I think. Maybe…always.” 

It was quiet for a moment after that. 

Then finally Hank said, softly, “Are you sure? That’s how you really feel?”

“…Yes.” Connor was certain. He looked at Hank with a tinge of bashfulness on his face. He almost wished he didn’t feel like this. Then it would be easier on both of them. 

“How can you tell?” Hank asked. Stubborn, as always. Demanding an explanation. 

“Because. I want to…” Connor lifted his hand. There were irrational instructions beating their way through his skull. Impossible to ignore. So, he picked the least intrusive one: He laid his hand on top of Hank’s. 

Hank stared at their hands. Without warning, he broke into a smirk and started chuckling. “What, just that? You want to hold my hand?” 

Connor blinked. “Yes. I do.” 

Shaking his head, Hank turned his hand so that their fingers could touch. Connor made a strange sound in the back of his throat when Hank carded his fingers against Connor’s. Locking their hands together. 

Connor squeezed. He didn’t want to let go. 

“That all you want, kid?” Hank’s voice was a low rumble. 

Connor shook his head. “…No.” He wanted so much more. 

“Hmm. Well there’s only one way to be sure,” Hank announced. He trailed his free hand over Connor’s face, making him shiver. With his thumb on Connor’s chin, so close to his lips, he said, “You want to kiss me?” 

Overheating, unbearably close to Hank’s lips, caught in a typhoon of sensations and desires, Connor lost himself. He barely managed a hoarse, “Yes.” 

So Hank kissed him. Slowly at first. Just holding their lips together, letting Connor get used to the sensation. With a myriad of colors exploding behind his eyelids—pink, purple, orange, red, violet, blue, clear sky blue, neon yellow—Connor moaned into the kiss. His vocal processor was operating on its own. But he didn’t even care.

Humming in approval, Hank turned his head to the side and deepened their angle. Now there were lips and tongues and a little bit of teeth, but that was okay. They were tasting. Touching. Connor buried one of his hands in Hank’s hair, wishing he could keep them like this forever. 

Hank’s face was soft. Dry, but warm. Connor wanted to touch it more. He didn’t want to stop…

But eventually Hank pulled away. His eyes looked a little watery. Face flushed. Connor could only imagine what his own face looked like. However, looking at Hank was far more preferable. 

“…Wow,” Hank said. Voice cracking. He cleared it self-consciously and moved back. 

Connor licked his lips. He could still taste everything of Hank’s on his lips. The saliva. The data. He stored it in a brand new file to analyze later. Well. ‘Analyze.’

“That was…” Every color in Conor’s registry. The right word…? 

“Tch. Yeah.” But Hank didn’t need an explanation. He’d been there for that kiss. He’d felt it. 

Saying nothing, they found each other’s hands again. They touched for a bit. Fingers sliding together, palms brushing. Getting used to the way that felt. 

“Guess there really is something here.” Hank admitted at last. “Not just for you. I kind of wondered for a while if there was, and now. I mean that?" He sighed. "Shit. Yeah." 

Connor was attending at full capacity. He closed the distance between them until their knees were flush. “You too?”

Hank nodded. His face was a cross between defeat and acceptance. And a little bit…happy. There was a smile playing on his lips. “Yep. Me too.” 

Connor’s network rushed to account for this new information. “But…what about Shannon?” 

“It’s alright. I’ll tell her tonight.” Hank cupped Connor’s face lovingly. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. I…kind of had a feeling it wasn’t going to work out anyway.” 

“You did? Why?” Even though they were having a serious conversation, Connor couldn’t stop reveling in all the touches. He leaned his face into Hank’s hand. Smelling the man’s scent right at the wrist. 

“Well, she’s…you know. She has a lot of young friends who like to go out. She’s from a whole different world, really. Fashion and parties and networking. Very nice girl, but. We don’t have a lot in common. I think she realized that too after last night.” 

Oh. So their relationship wasn’t as perfect as Connor imagined. 

“It’s okay. It happens sometimes. We tried it and we had fun. But she’ll understand.” Hank was smiling fully now. 

Connor was starting to understand. When two people didn’t know each other, they started a relationship with the hope that it would work it. That didn’t mean it would and that didn’t mean it wouldn’t. As long as they were having fun it was okay. 

But it was never as serious as Connor imagined. 

As guilty as it made him, relief flooded his system. He wasn’t ruining Hank and Shannon because…there was nothing to ruin. The weight and the desire and the need inside Connor was a different thing after all. 

That was something he’d share with Hank. And Hank could be…

…his. 

Just like this? Was Connor enough the way he was? 

Connor wrapped his arms around Hank. Shaky with comfort and reassurance. His head fell onto Hank’s shoulder. He hoped he could be enough. He wanted to be. He wanted this. Hank was his. His human. His friend. His…person. Date. Special. Significant. All those words. His blue. 

Hank hugged him back. Still musing. “Guess she just has a thing for old guys.” 

Now Connor was squeezing him tightly. “I have a thing…” For what? He didn’t even know, really! He still had no experience. Nothing to speak of! Except for one thing. “…a thing for you.” 

At that, Hank laughed out right. His beard scraped against Connor’s forehead and it was glorious. “Oh yeah? Do you?”

“Yes.” 

Hank gripped Connor’s face on both sides. Staring deeply into his eyes. He seemed torn between saying something and doing something. 

Connor was happy to solve that problem for him. “Are you going to kiss me again, Lieutenant?”

“You bet I am.”

And he did.

 

 

 

The end. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hnnnnnh yes.
> 
> I really like the idea of kind of (in a way) synesthetic Connor. With this one I was trying a little bit to explore the gap between how humans experience emotions and how androids do. Settled on colors as a good medium for how Connor relates his emotions since it makes sense with the LED and everything. But I think there's a lot of room to expand on this idea! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed! Some mid-week fluff for you all <3 <3 <3


End file.
